


To Be A Kid Again

by 5BlackRoses



Series: Brief Respite [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Age Regression/De-Aging, Bedtime Stories, Fatherhood, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kid Bucky Barnes, Kid Clint Barton, Kid Fic, Kid Natasha Romanov, Kid Sam Wilson, Kid Steve Rogers, Kid Wanda Maximoff, Magic, Parent Tony Stark, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is Good With Kids, curse, for like a month, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2018-08-18 15:38:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8167139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5BlackRoses/pseuds/5BlackRoses
Summary: A (Reluctant) Tony Stark ProductionStarring: 1 (very confused) preteen from Harlem, 1 (mildly suspicious) foster kid, 1 Russian spy (in-training), 2 (geriatric) children, and 1 (formerly magical) toddler.Featuring: 1 overexcited puppy, 3 confused but well meaning friends, 1 helpful engineer, and others.OrThe events of "One Month of Fatherhood" but from the children's perspectives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As requested, I gave it a shot, so here you go.
> 
> It won't line up chapter by chapter with the other fic.

Clint woke up in a strange place with strange people. The situation wasn't entirely confusing given that the last thing he remembered was his latest foster father's fist coming towards him. His location however, was confusing. Usually after such an incident, Clint would wake up in whatever room he'd been assigned to sleep or on the floor in the kitchen or living room, or in rare cases, a hospital or social worker's office.

This time, the 7 year old had woken up on a soft, brightly colored couch in a pleasantly warm room. There were huge windows with fancy drapes, and glancing outside, Clint observed a beautiful landscape unlike anything he'd ever seen. Something was definitely different this time.

Around him were 5 other children. A little redheaded girl shared the couch with him, while 2 boys were sleeping on the other couch. One had dark hair and was missing an arm and the other was blonde and pale and very skinny. A very young girl, probably under 3 years, was curled up in an armchair, and in the chair beside her was an older African American boy, likely 11 or 12 years old.

There were two adults at each entrance, but unlike the social workers with whom Clint had experience, these adults were all serious, heavily armed, African men. Seeing that he had woken, one of the adults came over with a pile of clothing and led Clint to a bathroom. The 7 year old used the facilites, but refused to change, so the guard eventually gave up and Clint was taken back to the couch.

Clint figured that he and all the other kids there were simply waiting to be picked up by their newest foster parents. The oldest was the next to wake up.

 

* * *

 

Sam woke up with a start. He was in an unfamiliar situation with unfamiliar people and immediately put up his guard. Surveying the room quickly, Sam determined that he was in no immediate danger and that it would be best if he were to cooperate with the armed guards present. One didn't grow up in Harlem without learning a few things.

Though he saw that one of the other 5 kids was awake, Sam made no move to interact. Instead, he took the clothes he was given and sat back in the chair to wait, refusing to change. He idly wondered what kind of foster home he would get this time. It made him a little sad, he'd liked the family he was with, but from past experience, foster care wasn't as bad as it was made out to be.

 

* * *

 

Steve and Bucky woke up at the same time. Immediately, they reached for each other. At that point, Bucky realized he was missing an arm and began to panic. Soon, both he and Steve were balling inconsolably and the guards gave up trying to give them new clothes.

The environment in which the two woke up was unfamiliar and confusing, and Steve's initial panic attack very quickly turned into an asthma attack. He was provided with a strange contraption, and though it helped, it also made him cry harder.

Bucky attempted to comfort his friend, but he had woken up one arm short and was still processing.

 

* * *

 

Wanda woke up crying. She cried for her parents and her brother, Pietro, but none of them came. Instead, an unfamiliar man approached her with strange clothing and tried to change her. She might have been under 3 years, but Wanda had learned the concept of “stranger danger.”

She cried harder, banging her fists and heels on the chair in which she sat. The man put the clothes next to her and backed off; he'd never spent much time with toddlers. Eventually, Wanda cried herself back to sleep, curled in the fetal position.

 

* * *

 

Natasha was the last to wake up. The 5 year old sat up slowly, surveying her surroundings and coming to the conclusion that she wasn't at any of the Red Room facilities.

On the couch next to her sat a sandy-haired boy who was looking at her curiously. A nasty glare had him backing away to a distance that satisfied Natasha. There were 3 other boys in the room, but none of them seemed keen on interaction, so she left them alone. The only other girl was a sleeping toddler curled up in an armchair, tear tracks running down her cheeks. Definitely not Red Room.

One of the guards came over to provide Natasha with clothing for her size and she took the clothes obediently, not speaking because she didn't know what language to use. She went to change in the bathroom that the man showed her, but not before her hand darted out and stole a knife from the guard's leg-sheath. He didn't notice, and she didn't change her clothing.

 

* * *

 

There was a sudden commotion in another room, and all but one of the guards rushed out. It was quite a long time, probably an hour or so, before anyone else entered.

When the new stranger arrived, Wanda, Steve, and Bucky were all awake and crying for their parents, while Natasha was threatening Clint with the stolen knife, she'd gotten bored, and the guard was leaning against the wall looking mildly annoyed.

The stranger, a man with a carefully trimmed goatee and strange futuristic bracelets, quickly took control of the situation.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Tony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to sonysakura for helping me with the Russian.

Natasha was not thrilled about having the stolen knife confiscated. Still, the stranger had an aura of power about him and it was clear that he was the one in control; she gave him the weapon without a fight. He sent her to the far corner of the room and sent Clint to another.

While the young Russian lounged against the wall, an impressive feat given that she was only 5 years old, Clint crouched in his corner, pressing his hands against his face. Natasha observed him with disdain." _Больше недели он не протянет_ , she thought, _Уже плачет! Бесполезен!"_

( _He won't last more than a week_ , she thought, _Crying! He's useless_ )

 

* * *

 

 

Wanda sat on the floor, legs splayed, banging her fists against the ground and wailing. She had woken up in a chair and promptly fallen out of it, but when the the guard came over to check it, she had screamed at the top of her lungs until he backed off. When the stranger entered the room, the little girl had nearly exhausted herself, crying out for her parents and her brother, Pietro.

The stranger reminded Wanda of her Papa, so she only fought back a little when he scooped her into his arms. Eventually, when she realized that he wasn't going to put her down, Wanda rested her head on his shoulder, stray tears dampening his shirt; like Papa, he didn't mind.

 

* * *

 

Bucky and Steve were scared to say the least. They had woken up in an unfamiliar environment and the older was missing one arm. Their only solace was that they were together. When the stranger entered, they were crying in each other's arms.

Like most young children, Steve and Bucky were easily distracted from their woes by the candy that the man gave them; growing up when they did, the two hadn't been told “never take candy from strangers” as often as those who grew up at the turn of the 21st century.

 

* * *

 

Sam was angry. He was also sad and confused and scared, but anger was easier than the other feelings. When the stranger approached him, having already dealt with the other kids, Sam yelled the first thing that came to his mind, “I hate you!”

“No, you don't,” the man replied calmly.

Not knowing how to respond, Sam stayed quiet. He knew that a foster home would probably be better than a group home, so he didn't want to piss off a potential foster father too much.

 

* * *

 

The stranger herded the children into a circle on the floor, though Wanda insisted on staying in his lap. Natasha and Clint sat on opposite sides of the circle, glaring at each other, while Steve and Bucky sat close together, and Sam sat with his arms crossed, glaring at everyone.

“We are going to go around the circle and when it is your turn, you will say your name and how hold you are,” the stranger instructed slowly, “got it?”

Clint, Steve, and Sam nodded, and Steve decided to go first.

 

* * *

 

“My name is Steven Grant Rogers and I'm 6 years old,” he announced.

All eyes turned towards the skinny child, but rather than being intimidated, Steve puffed out his chest, challenging the others with his eyes. Just when he was sure that the angry red-headed girl was going to jump up and hit Steve, Bucky introduced himself.

“My name is James B. Barnes,” he said, “but everyone calls me Bucky.”

“That's stupid!” one of the younger children jeered.

Bucky shrunk back into himself, holding on to Steve's hand more tightly.He was grateful when the stranger with the goatee intervened, saying “no, it's not,” so definitively that the kid who'd said it shut his mouth and lowered his head to stare at the floor.

“How old are you, Bucky?” the man continued.

“I'm 9,” he whispered, “and I'm supposed to have two arms.”

Bucky was on the verge of tears, but thankfully no one noticed and the girl beside him introduced herself. “Natalia Alianovna Romanova,” she announced, “Americans say Natasha.”

“And how old are you?” the stranger prompted.

“5 years and 4 months,” she replied.

At last, the stranger introduced himself. “I'm Tony Stark,” he told them, “I'm going to be taking care of you guys for the foreseeable future.”

None of the children had anything to say, so he introduced the little girl sitting in his lap. “This here is Wanda Maximoff and she is about 2.5 years old.”

Wanda looked up when she heard her name, but she didn't understand what Tony was saying, so she returned to the task of poking at a hole in her oversized clothing.

Sam decided that he might as well get this part over with; he didn't want to be the last one. “Sam Wilson, 12,” he said, not uncrossing his arms.

“I'm Clint Barton,” the child who'd been staring holes in the floor, spoke up, “I'll be 8 in like 11 months.”

Tony announced lunch, and soon all the children were on their feet; none of them had eaten in a few hours. The only one who actually listened to the part about getting new clothes was Wanda, and she didn't understand it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and let me know what you think. It will make me very happy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunchtime...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it has taken me so long to update, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> (also, I recently updated Brief Respite Part 1, but keep in mind that while they follow the same timeline, this chapter lines up with about Ch. 2 of "One Month of Fatherhood")
> 
> Many thanks to sonysakura for helping me with the Russian.

_Это тест,_ Natasha thought, surveying the unfamiliar food _, она, вероятно, отравлена."_

( _This is a test, she thought, it's probably poisoned._ )

The young redhead recognized very little of the cuisine on the table. The few individual foods that were actually familiar to her seemed off somehow, either in smell or appearance. She sat back in the chair, waiting patiently for the exercise to end and Mr. Stark to return; he was the one in charge, she was sure of it.

The children introduced as Steve and Bucky were both eating as if they had never seen food before, and the boy that Natasha had been messing with earlier was tentatively nibbling at the closest dish, waiting at least a full minute between bites. _"Может быть, он не совсем дурак,_ Natasha reasoned, watching Clint, _По крайней мере, он знает, что стоит опасаться отравления."_

( _Maybe he isn't completely stupid,_ she reasoned, _at least he knows to be wary of poison._ )

The youngest girl, Mr. Stark had said her name was Wanda, tried every food on her plate. She would put a bit into her mouth and consider it for a moment before spitting it out. _Она не выживет,_ Natasha decided.

( _She won't survive_ , Natasha decided.)

The oldest boy, Sam, had ceased yelling after a few minutes, and he too refused to eat anything. This wasn't the first time Natasha hadn't been the only one to survive an exercise, but the occurrence was rare enough to make note of.

 

* * *

 

Wanda was not in the mood to try new food. She wanted her parents and her brother, and possibly a nap. Still, the little girl was quite hungry, so she gave the food placed before her, a try.

As it turned out, Wakandan cuisine was unfamiliar and given the state Wanda was in, unfamiliar = disgusting. Even after she had tried every dish on the table, she still hadn't found anything that tasted at all like what her parents fed her.

Overtired as she was, it was little surprise that Wanda began sobbing, hoping that the man who reminded her of Papa would come back. In her experience, the action of crying loudly produced a consistent response, the appearance of a responsible adult.

Sam was angry, resentful and annoyed. He liked his current foster family and was far from excited about being moved. Also, young kids weren't exactly his thing and it appeared that he was the oldest of the present group. That being said, the youngest, Wanda, was sort of cute when she wasn't crying.

After the first few minute, Sam stopped shouting at the guard, who remained impassive, and Mr. Stark, who was likely not within hearing range. He had a little verbal altercation with the small kid called Steve who'd tried to reprimand him for swearing, but otherwise, there was no response. The other kids were ignoring him and none of the food looked appealing, so, as any 12 year old might, he settled in to sulk. _This is bullshit!_ he thought angrily.

 

* * *

 

Steve was amazed by the shear amount of food on the table. Never mind that he didn't recognize any of the dishes, he began eating almost immediately. Of course, he put a napkin in his lap first and waited until someone else had taken a forkful before touching a single morsel; Sarah Rogers was a stickler for manners.

The redheaded girl, Natasha, wasn't eating, he noticed, and neither was the oldest boy, Steve remembered that his name was Sam. Earlier, Sam had been shouting a lot and yelling nasty things at no one in particular. Steve had tried to correct him with an unafraid “Language! but Sam just sneered at him and continue to shout.

 _The Depression must be over,_ Steve thought, delightedly, maybe now, _Mom won't have to work so hard!_ Suffice it to say, the little boy thought that life was finally looking up. In fact, he was so distracted by the abundance of the food, he didn't realize that he was in an unknown location and had no idea where his mother was.

Bucky too was amazed by the quantity of food before him, and for a little while, he was distracted from the absence of one limb. However, once he had finished eating far more than his fill, the missing arm pushed to the front of his thoughts.

As always, he had to stay strong for Stevie, he had to look after Stevie, he had to make sure Stevie didn't piss off an older kid and get himself beat to death in a back alley. Fortunately, Bucky didn't have to search the alleyways to find his friend; Steve was sitting beside him, pleasantly full and a little sleepy.

 

* * *

 

 

The one thing that Clint would never protest, even as a 7 year old, was food. He'd been denied meals too many times to take one for granted. Looking at the multitude of dishes laid out on the table, the boy couldn't help smiling a bit. It didn't even matter to him that none of it was familiar.

Still, Clint new better than to stuff his face immediately. His Dad always punished him for eating food that hadn't been explicitly given to him, and one of his foster mothers made a habit of taking away food if his manners didn't meet her unreasonably high expectations. Most authority figures in Clint's life exercised their will, at least in part, through controlling access to food, but it was his Dad and Agatha, the foster mother, who really made an impression.

Taking a small forkful of seasoned rice, the boy ate it quickly, looking around for whoever it was that would inevitably take it away. Clint repeated the process with nearly every dish available, eventually grabbing a roll of sorts which he wrapped in a napkin, and hiding it as discreetly as possible beneath his too-big shirt.

Natasha found another knife midway through the meal. Clint tried to stay in his seat and appear unafraid, but his success was limited. _She's never been in a foster home,_ he decided, _she'll learn that throwing things is only allowed if you're an adult._

With the resignation that comes only from experience, Clint considered what form of discipline Mr. Stark would favor. He was pretty sure that the goateed man would be his next foster parent; lip reading wasn't an exact science, and Clint had never been good with science anyway. _He'll probably just go away all the time,_ the boy predicted, _he's not here now._ As far as foster parents went, Clint had been placed with worse.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Tony returned to the room, Natasha's target practice had scared Clint back into the corner, Sam was still sulking, Wanda was sobbing, and Steve and Bucky were leaning against each other, holding their stomachs and groaning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! I really appreciate comments, even constructive criticism.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting ready to leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to sonysakura for helping me with the Russian.

Wanda's head was pounding, but her cries didn't decrease in intensity or volume until strong arms that felt like Papa's but different, pulled her into a hug. She was past the point of caring; she felt reasonably safe and rested her head on Tony's shoulder.

Tony began speaking, but Wanda didn't understand what he was saying, so she stopped listening, squeezing her eyes shut to block out at least some of the sensory information bombarding her developing brain. She felt someone rubbing her back soothingly, and for a moment, she could pretend that Papa was holding her and that everything was normal.

Drifting off to sleep, Wanda didn't notice the guard entering with a bag of clothing.

 

* * *

 

Clint huddled in the corner, dreading whatever was to come. Natasha had stopped throwing knives at him (or the wall next to him) when Mr. Stark entered, but the 7 year old didn't move. _Shit!_ Clint thought _, she knows how to make the adults like her..._

He had been in foster homes with absent guardians and violent “siblings” before. It didn't take them very long to figure out how to behave around the adults, and it didn't take Clint very long to learn how to make up excuses for the cuts and bruises. He had already decided that Mr. Stark wouldn't be around much, but what filled him with dread was being left alone with Natasha.

A small pile of clothing held out to him pulled Clint from his thoughts. “Please get dressed, Clint,” Mr. Stark said.

“Yessir,” the boy murmured, “thank you, Mr. Stark.”

The adult smiled sadly at the boy, reaching out with his unoccupied hand to ruffle his hair. Much to his dismay, Clint couldn't keep from flinching. Mr. Stark withdrew his hand, still looking at the boy with sad eyes. “I'm sorry,” he whispered before moving away, turning once to add, “and please call me Tony.”

 _What is he sorry for?_ Clint wondered as he began removing the too-big clothes; privacy was a luxury that he'd rarely been afforded in his short life. Surprisingly, the clothes provided were new and actually fit, and the bag they came from resembled a duffle or suitcase. DCFS usually dispensed ill-fitting, heavily worn clothing, out of large black plastic bags.

 

* * *

 

Natasha paused her target practice when Mr. Stark entered. When he'd caught her earlier, he'd taken away the knife. _Всегда скрывай свое оружие,_ she remembered one of her first lessons at the Red Room, _Г-н Старк разочарован во мне,_ she decided.

( _Always hide your weapons_ , she remembered one of her first lessons at the Red Room, _Mr. Stark is disappointed with me,_ she decided.)

When he approached her, after giving clothes to Clint, the adult did appear disappointed. “There will be no knife throwing indoors,” he told her, “understood?”

Natasha nodded, surprised when Mr. Stark held out the hand not holding Wanda. “The knife,” he demanded, “now.”

As she handed it over, the redhead couldn't help but marvel at gentle the man's words sounded. She thought that she knew an order when she heard one, but perhaps she was wrong. Natasha's theory about the purpose of the lesson was growing holes quickly, but had nothing to replace it.

Natasha took the clothes that were offered, but made no move to put them on. Mr. Stark appeared confused for a moment before he shrugged. “The bathroom is over there,” he pointed towards a door in the back of the room as he turned to Sam.

 

* * *

 

Sam was grateful for the clothes. He was familiar with the DCFS approach to clothing, so he changed into the correctly-sized, new clothing with no protest. He did make use of the bathroom, though, making a face at a half-naked Clint.

Angry was a default setting for Sam, so he didn't make it easy on Mr. Stark, complaining and shouting as it pleased him, with no regard for the sleeping 2.5 year old that the adult was holding. Sam didn't like toddlers very much, mostly because foster parents always liked them more than him.

At some point, the 11 year old realized that Mr. Stark had stopped listening to him and that Wanda could sleep through anything. “Fuck this!” he muttered, sinking back onto a couch to sulk, surprised when his new foster dad didn't scold him.

 _He really doesn't care, does he?_ Sam thought angrily.

 

* * *

 

Steve felt so full that he never wanted to move again, but he also wanted to throw up a little. He leaned against Bucky, groaning a little, his young mind trying to reconcile the feeling in his stomach with his joy at being able to eat so much.

When Mr. Stark approached, the 6 year old tried to sit up straight but failed. “Not feeling well?” the adult asked.

“My stomach hurts,” Steve complained, “I think I'm sick, Mr. Stark.”

“Call me Tony. What kind of sick are we talking? Needing-medicine-sick or ate-too-much-sick?”

“I dunno. There's never been too much food before,” Steve replied, biting his lip.

“Things are a little different now, Steve,” Tony told him, “you don't need to worry about food shortages; that's my job.”

“Ma says that sometimes...” Steve accepted the small pile of clothing that was handed to him, “she says that it's her job to worry about the money and food, not mine.”

“Sounds like your Ma's got a good head on her shoulders.”

“Can I go home now, Tony?”

“I'm sorry,” the adult put one hand on Steve's shoulder like something was holding him back from offering more affection, “I'll get you home as soon as I can, but until then, you're gonna stay with me, Alright?”

Steve nodded, and Tony moved on to supply Bucky with clothing.

 

* * *

 

Bucky felt just as sick as Steve, but he was 3 years older and had accepted his responsibility to care for the younger kid. Still, missing one of his arms was really freaking him out. Though he was edging on hysteria, Bucky kept himself together, gratefully taking the new clothing from Tony.

As the adult moved over to dress the sleeping 2.5 year old in his arms, Bucky helped Steve get dressed. First he put on his own undergarments and pants, deciding that the sandals were too confusing and trying to ignore his lack of an arm. For that reason, Bucky didn't change into the new shirt; the too-big one obscured the sight of the stump.

Predictably, Steve also refused to change shirts, insisting on copying his older friend. Bucky figured that if Tony didn't mind, then it wasn't a problem. He sat back, rubbing his stomach, absentmindedly trying to ease the ache there. Once Steve was changed, he leaned against Bucky's good arm; both of them were ignoring the stump.

When he'd finished dressing Wanda, Tony returned to help the boys with their sandals. Neither child had ever seen shoes of the sort, but they proved to be fairly simple in the end. Bucky was still very uncomfortable with the entire situation, but Tony seemed to know what was going on, so the 9 year old and by extension his younger friend, followed the adult's lead and instructions.

Bucky watched as Tony made his way over to Natasha, trying to convince her to get dressed. At first he was confused by the girl's resistance, but when he saw the clothing, he understood her hesitance; Tony had given her pants! Still, the redhead did eventually agree to change and soon enough, Tony was packing everything into bags and they were all following him out of the room.

 

Suffice it to say, none of the children had ever seen a private jet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think, comments fuel my inspiration


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the USA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that took so long, and I know it's kind of short, but I'm really trying to update with more and do it more often.
> 
> I hope you like it
> 
> *Thanks to sonysakura for helping me with translations.

The trip to the U.S. was the most amazing experience Clint had ever had. He'd always loved heights and he'd heard about airplanes from kids at the various schools he'd attended, but nothing could compare to the real thing. Clint kept his face pressed against the window until the plane had cleared the clouds and he lost sight of the ground.

Looking around, he wondered where Natasha had gone. _Maybe Tony left her behind,_ he speculated, _kids who throw things don't get fostered._

Clint had always been confused about how the foster parents chose which children they wanted from the hundreds in any given foster system. He knew that if you had “exhibits violent behavior” in your case file, no one wanted you, but he also knew that his foster parents' real kids were often quite violent. Idly, he wondered if Tony had bothered to read all 6 of their files before fostering them.

Trying hard to remember any case files he had seen when he had been forgotten in a social worker's office and decided to look through her files, Clint worked to make sense of the situation. “No good, useless brat,” he muttered, recalling the words his latest foster parents said when they gave him back to the state, “too stupid to keep himself out of trouble...”

Apparently, Clint had done something wrong, because soon a small body launched itself at him, fists swinging.

 

* * *

 

Steve knew that he and Bucky were in for it when he heard Tony enter. Guiltily, he backed away from Clint, hoping that he would get the chance to explain the situation. Considering that the other boy was both older and marginally healthier, Steve figured that he wouldn't get in to much trouble himself. Then again, it had been two on one after Bucky joined in to protect his friend.

The fallout was surprisingly brief and simple. Tony chastised Clint first and Steve almost thought that he got away with it, but the adult did split the blame in thirds. He really wanted to explain himself and tell Tony what Clint had said, but the man had moved on to take care of Wanda before he got the chance.

 _So that's what it was!_ Steve realized. He was no stranger to the smell of piss having lived in 1920's Brooklyn, but in this startlingly clean new world, the smell had seemed out of context. Steve had never spent much time with kids younger than himself, frail as he was, he had no business being around the “little germ factories.”

At that point, Tony made the wall become some sort of moving picture, and Steve honestly couldn't remember anything about the rest of the flight, save what happened on the screen.

 

* * *

 

 

Wanda was not happy. The air around her was cold, the seat was scratchy, and parts of her dress were soggy. Most importantly, Pietro was no where to be found and neither were her parents. She was tired and hungry and bored.

The man who reminded her of Papa came back then, picking her up and making the scratchy-ness go away. He was warm and dry, so for a while she was content to let him hold her, but eventually he tried to give her new clothing and she started to cry.

He hugged her tightly to his chest with one arm, searching through a bag with the other. Finding what he was looking for, the man pulled away from Wanda and handed her new underwear. It was soft and comfortable, and she didn't even mind that he gave her a boy's shirt instead of another dress.

Once more, he picked her up, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, taking whatever comfort she could get. Too soon, he had placed her back in the scratchy seat and was walking away.

Wanda was on the verge of a tantrum when the TV screens came on and she got distracted.

 

* * *

 

"Everyone else is watching a movie," Tony said, returning to the cockpit, "do you want to join them?"

Natasha shot the man a look of what she hoped came off as contempt; the movies that the Red Room showed its pupils were strange and made her head hurt. As instructed, Natasha hadn't touched anything, but she wasn't exactly thrilled about being left by herself with the talking plane.

Tony sat down in the seat beside hers, putting on his headset. For a while Natasha listened to him speak with the plane and to the incoming messages from air-traffic control, but she got bored quickly. Suddenly, the little redhead had an idea. _Красная комната никогда не упустит возможность научить нас чему-нибудь,_ she thought, _Этот инструктор должен быть таким же._

( _The Red Room never misses a teaching opportunity,_ she thought, _this handler shouldn't be too different_.)

Soon enough, Natasha had convinced Tony to teach her how to fly the plane, and he let her fly it with only the person in the walls helping her for most of the remaining flight. Towards the end of the flight, Tony resumed control of the plane, instructing Natasha to remain quiet so that he could hear and communicate with the air-traffic control people.

The flight was long and when she got off the plane, shadowing Tony's every move, Natasha was tired and hungry. Of course, she knew better than to complain. She was unimpressed by the attitudes of the other kids. _Идиот_ , she scoffed mentally, seeing that Clint was asleep. Steve and Bucky earned her contempt as well, but Sam most of all. _Он будет уничтожен первым_ , she decided.

( _Idiot,_ she scoffed mentally, seeing that Clint was asleep. Steve and Bucky earned her contempt as well, but Sam most of all. _He'll be eliminated first,_ she decided.)

Tony brought all the kids to a quiet room with a few couches and some chairs. His intentions still eluded Natasha and she remained uneasy as the other kids settled. A man, Tony introduced him as Greg, came to watch them, but he tried to play games and interact with the kids, so the redhead decided to ignore him. Steve and Bucky were watching TV again and Wanda and Clint were both asleep, leaving Sam brooding in the corner.

At one point, Sam got into a fight with Greg, but Natasha just moved to the other side of the room, completing her various exercise routines in order to stay awake. _Это испытание на выносливость_. ( _This is a test of endurance_.)

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky was amazed by everything he saw. There were the walls with moving pictures, an airplane like nothing he'd ever seen before, and Tony's car that took them all away from the airport and to a quiet neighborhood.

He couldn't remember much of the last 12 hours, with all the travel and sleeping and whatnot, none of the kids were totally clear on what was going on, but he was relieved when they arrived at a beautiful house on a quiet street, in a neighborhood cleaner than any place he'd ever been.

Steve and Bucky ran around in the grass, throwing off their shoes to feel the earth under their bare feet. The other kids did not seem quite as excited, but neither of the two boys from Brooklyn minded at all.

 

* * *

 

 

Sam was tired and angry and confused. He'd never been in a place before, and his foster homes were never in such nice neighborhoods. Desperately, he wanted to believe that his life was finally getting better, but he couldn't help the sinking feeling that it all would be ripped away sooner or later.

He helped Tony carry the boxes and bags into the house, for once not resentful about having to help. In the past, Sam had often ended up doing most of the chores for his foster parents because their “real” children didn't want to, but this time, he could see Steve trying to help and Bucky was missing an arm, so Sam was more understanding.

Once inside, everyone except Wanda worked together to remove slip-covers from furniture and to open up the boxes that had been waiting on the doorstep. Eventually, they all fell asleep on couches or in armchairs, and the next thing Sam knew, he was waking up with Clint's foot digging painfully into his side.

“Get off me, you twerp!” Sam shouted, pushing off the couch.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a hawk and a falcon get in a scuffle and a de-aged geriatric appreciates the 21st century

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update. It's short-ish, but at least it's here.

Clint woke up as he was shoved off the couch, hitting the floor with a thud. “What was that for?” he turned on Sam.

“You were kicking me with your disgusting feet--” Sam didn't get a chance to finish.

“No I wasn't!” Clint retorted, “You have to share. Those are the rules!”

Sam shoved Clint in response, standing up, “I don't have to do anything! Just cause my parents are dead doesn't mean you can tell me what to do!”

“Your parents are dead?” The 7 year old asked quietly, feeling a bit more sympathy toward the older boy.

Unfortunately, Sam interpreted the question as a verbal attack of some kind and began to yell and then he started to cry. Clint, unsure what to do, backed himself into the farthest corner and pulled out his new hearing aids, watching silently as Tony tried to comfort Sam. Somewhere along the way, the older boy went back to yelling at anyone and everyone, making Clint even more glad that he couldn't hear what was going on.

The de-aged archer scaled the tallest bookshelf quickly, making sure that the hearing aids were safe in his pocket and that no one was watching him. He knew that he was probably going to be in trouble for starting a fight, but selfishly, he hoped that Sam would get more of the punishment because he was older; that's how it had been with Barney until they were separated and Clint had to face angry foster parents by himself.

Watching from above, Clint could tell that Tony was having no success with calming Sam, the situation only escalating when Steve woke up and decided to yell at at the 12 year old. Eventually, Sam stormed out of the room, leaving the 6 year old blond staring after him. _He's never been in a foster home before_ , Clint decided, watching Steve, _clearly he doesn't know the rules._

He saw Wanda sitting on the floor crying and wanted to go to her, but that would require descending the bookcase and crossing the room. He hoped Bucky would do something, but it seemed that he was preoccupied by his arm or lack thereof. Natasha was nowhere in sight, and frankly, Clint was relieved about that; he wouldn't be forgetting her threats to 'gut him like a pig' when they were back in the place with the strange food and pretty trees.

 

* * *

 

Wanda was tired, hungry, and very overwhelmed. She'd been woken up by yelling and it didn't seem to be stopping any time soon. The only solution left to her was to sit and wail until something changed. She wanted her parents.

Suddenly, the man, the one who reminded her of Papa, was kneeling in front of her. She couldn't understand what he was saying, but he was there and that meant everything would be okay. At least she hoped so.

He pulled a box out from behind his back, handing it to her. Wanda shook the box, trying to dislodge the contents, but failing. She held it out to him, trying to ask for help but using words he couldn't understand. The man smiled and pulled off the lid, sending little plastic animals cascading into Wanda's lap. She didn't notice when he walked away.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky sat quietly, poking at the stump where his arm had been. He wanted to cry, but for Steve's sake, he swallowed the lump in his throat and held himself together. Dutifully, he followed his younger friend outside, making sure to note the rules that Tony laid out. They seemed sensible, “don't run into the street,” “don't talk to strangers,” “stay close by,” and “don't eat anything from out there,” but Bucky had no doubt that Steve would break at least one in the first 5 minutes.

The neighborhood was nothing like he'd ever seen before. Unlike the Brooklyn streets to which he was accustomed, this place was light and airy, and it smelled like greenery and burning wood rather than rotten meat and piss. Surrounding Bucky was more flora than he'd ever seen. _Perhaps I've died and gone to heaven,_ he thought, _but if this were heaven I would still have my arm._

For a long while, Steve and Bucky stayed outside, the former enjoying the clean air and the quiet while the latter kept a watchful eye and wondered how exactly he'd lost an entire limb. Eventually, Steve began to complain that he was hungry, and Bucky took him inside, hoping that there would be enough food to go around.

 

* * *

 

 

Natasha peeked around the doorway, keeping herself hidden as she watched the occupants of the living room. She watched at Tony approached the bookcase like the child on top of it was a frightened animal who might run at any moment; or jump, as the case may be. Despite her disdain for the boy, Natasha was impressed by Clint's climbing abilities; that wasn't exactly her strong suit. _Возможно, они тренируют мальчиков по-разному_ , she mused, _bозможно, его обработчики терпят непослушание._

( _Maybe they train the boys differently,_ she mused, _perhaps his handlers have been more tolerant of disobedience_.)

Natasha nearly laughed aloud when she heard Tony ask Clint to go find her. The kid looked so scared, she couldn't help feeling a little gleeful. She wasn't going to make it easy for him to find her.

Running off, the little redhead didn't hear the change of plans about who was looking for whom, so when Tony called her name, she figured punishment was imminent. Natasha responded to the call immediately, coming out into the open. Figuring that she might earn some good will and escape punishment for the time being, she asked about the training facilities. _Если я докажу, что посвятил себя той же цели, что и мистер Тони, возможно, он забудет, что я убежал,_ she hoped.

( _If I prove that I'm dedicated to the same goal as Tony, perhaps he'll forget that I ran off,_ she hoped.)

Natasha was a bit startled when Tony came over and sat down on the floor in front of her, but she hid it. "I need you to apologize to Clint," he told her.

“To apologize is to admit defeat," she told him, remembering what one of her first handlers had said to her often at the beginning of her time with the Red Room, "defeat is failure. Failure is not tolerated."

"The rules are different here," he said after a moment, "I'm in charge here, and I'm telling you to be nice to Clint. Understood?"

Natasha nodded. For some reason, Tony's mini-lecture felt worse than any punishment she'd received at the Red Room. Perhaps she was being overdramatic, but in the moment, his disappointment hurt more than any whipping or even having food taken away for days at a time.

Obediently, she followed Tony and did as she was told, swallowing her pride and disdain to apologize to Clint. No one needed to know that she didn't mean it.

 

* * *

 

Sam was unsurprised that no one had come to find him after he'd stomped off. He'd never been in a foster home with quite so many kids before, but he'd been with big enough families to understand that the younger kids and the kids that caused more problems got more attention. The younger ones were adopted more often, while the troublemakers were usually sent back to the State with a week or two. _Keep your head down,_ he reminded himself, _be good. If you behave you might get to stay._

Watching from the upstairs bathroom, Sam saw Tony digging linens out of a closet. He knew that he should go help, but he was still in a foul mood and so he stayed put. He was in a slightly better mood by the time they all piled into the car to go grocery shopping.

Going grocery shopping was one of Sam's favorite things to do, even with foster families. There were so many things to look at and labels to read and sometimes, he even got to pick out foods that he liked as a special treat. Additionally, when a foster parent was buying something from the meat counter, the store employee sometimes gave Sam and his foster siblings a little slice to taste, even though they had no part in the decision of what would be bought.

There was one grocery store that Sam went to with his first foster parent, there were no other kids in that particular household, that held a special place in his heart. Not only had he gotten to try samples of cheese, melon, and cake, but a man in the produce area had given him a banana to eat for free. He would have liked to stay with that particular family, if only so that he could go back to that grocery store, but the couple was older and they'd sent him back when the wife broke her hip; he was the last kid they fostered.

Shopping for groceries with 5 younger kids and only one foster parent was a very new experience for Sam. Usually, the adult was smart enough to not bring more than 2 kids at a time, but this foster dad, Tony, didn't seem particularly experienced with kids. Sure, he was nice enough and could control the 6 of them well enough in a contained space, but grocery stores, particularly this one, were large and confusing places, especially for individuals who couldn't see higher than the 3rd shelf.

Sam felt a little bad for knocking stuff off the shelves, but he refused to take responsibility for everything that happened afterwards. He'd been picking everything up, so it was hardly his fault that Bucky tried to help leading Steve to have a minor freak-out and that the situation spiraled.

 

* * *

 

Steve was amazed by a lot of the things in this new place, but none more so than the food. He was used to simple and small meals, limited because of money shortage and primarily coming out of various cans.

When they got back from the store, Steve found the drawing supplies and he couldn't have been happier unless his mother showed up. The paper was clean and white and the pencils came in more colors than he knew was possible. Bucky didn't seem particularly enthusiastic about it when Steve showed him, but the younger kid was too excited to care. He was enjoying himself so much that he didn't notice that the supplies was disappearing piece by piece until it was almost completely gone. Suffice it to say, he was not happy. That being said, he was young and his mood changed very quickly.

For dinner, Tony steamed vegetables that had more flavor in them than almost anything Steve had tasted, and served them alongside something called orzo and chicken. Eating more than he probably should have, the little blonde had a stomach ache after the meal, but he didn't say anything to the adult; he knew better than to whine about a lack of food, so he definitely wasn't going to be complaining about an abundance of it.

To top it all off, Tony made Natasha give back the pencils and paper after dinner, so Steve got to continue drawing until bedtime.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Tony have a talk after dinner, Wanda picks favorites, Bucky listens to a bedtime story, and Steve is an adorable little shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long, I know I say it every time, but I really did mean to update sooner. I hope you like.

“What's that?” Steve asked, watching Tony finish up preparing dinner.

“It's called orzo,” the adult replied, “if you behave, I might give you some.”

Clint stiffened, folding his hands in his lap. Looking over to see the girls making faces at each other, he wondered if they had been listening. He didn't really like Natasha, but he wasn't about to let her go hungry on accident, never-mind getting the toddler in trouble. Nudging the older of the two girls with his foot, Clint leaned over slightly. “Stop that. If we don't behave, we don't get food,” he whispered.

Natasha turned towards him. “it's just a joke,” she told him, like that was the most obvious thing in the world.

Though he didn't believe her, Clint gave up on trying to help. If she wanted to go hungry, then let her. Luckily, Tony didn't notice the misbehavior and he set full plates down in front of each of the children; Wanda's food was even cut into little bits.

“You and I need to talk,” the adult said as he passed by Clint's chair.

“Yes, sir,” the boy didn't know what he'd done wrong, but he also knew better than to argue.

Casting a longing glance at the food, he rose and moved to stand in the kitchen corner, his face to the wall. He saw Tony's shadow approaching and did his best not to flinch; he was only partially successful.

Much to Clint's surprise, the adult's hand came down gently on his shoulder. “After you have eaten your fill.”

Smiling imperceptibly, the boy returned to the table, sliding into his seat. He made sure to use his napkin and to not eat with his fingers, even a little bit; hopefully his good behavior would mitigate the punishment. After dinner, he remained on his best behavior, carefully carrying the dishes to the sink where Tony was scraping the extra food into a bin marked C-O-M-P-O-S-T. Clint considered helping with that too, but he wasn't sure what the word on the bin meant and he didn't want to risk messing up again.

When the table was cleared and most of the other kids had run off, Clint slowly returned to the corner. He was tempted to run, but experience told him that would make things worse. He was a little confused when Tony chased Wanda out of the room, presumably to change her food-covered clothing, and didn't return for what felt like a very long time. Still, he stood in the corner and waited.

Eventually, Tony did return, but he wasn't carrying a belt or hairbrush or anything else from the large collection of household items with which Clint had been punished before. He even had the boy sit at the table while started loading the dishwasher. “Clint,” the Tony began, “I want you to tell me why you thought I wouldn't feed you. Everyone else seemed to understand that I was joking.”

Apparently Natasha had been right and Clint was as ever, the stupidest kid at the table. “Sorry sir,” he mumbled, “I just thought...”

“Yes?”

“Well... my last foster dad said that if me and Barney didn't behave, we wouldn't get dinner. I didn't hear him, so I was bad, and then...”

“And then you didn't get dinner,” Tony finished.

Clint nodded, resisting the urge to back away when the adult sat down beside him. “I can tell there's something else,” the man prompted.

“My first foster dad took away clothes and food for a whole day after I spilled ketchup on a white shirt. Said if I couldn't be responsible then I didn't deserve 'em.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Clint regretted them. Immediately Tony's expression turned dark; the boy knew anger when he saw it. This time he didn't manage to keep himself from backing away. The adult's expression then turned sad and Clint only flinched a little when Tony gently took his hands. “I will never take away food or clothing,” he promised, “If you make a mess, tell me, and I will help you clean it up. Okay?”

“Yes sir,” Clint nodded at his lap, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“One more thing, please call me Tony. If you aren't comfortable with that, Stark, Hey You, or any creative nickname you can come up with will work. Natasha has even started calling me Mr. Tony.”

Again the boy nodded, not trusting himself with a verbal reply. As soon as Tony let him, he ran out of the kitchen, hiding for a bit just in case before he came out to play with the magnetic dartboard.

 

* * *

 

Wanda was beginning to like this new family. She still missed Mama and Papa and Pietro, but she liked Tony too. Of all her new siblings, Sam was her favorite. He let her sit on his stomach and bounce and he would make funny faces.

Natasha was Wanda's second favorite, mostly because she was a girl; the Sokovian had never had a sister before. That being said, the redhead wasn't particularly nice. She made funny faces sometimes, but for the most part she ignored Wanda.

After dinner, Wanda played with Sam, in the living room until Tony came out of the kitchen. Running towards him, the little girl was pleasantly surprised when the inventor swept her up, settling her on his hip. He was talking to the other kids, but she couldn't understand so she just snuggled into his arms, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

They went upstairs together and Wanda sat on the floor watching as Tony pulled sheets and blankets and pillows out of the hall closet. Eventually, she got bored and decided to run up and down the hall, all the while telling Tony about the animals in the living room. Though his responses made no sense, Wanda was satisfied.

Talking about the animals reminded the toddler that she'd left them all alone. Hopefully, Sam would be taking care of them, but Wanda ran down the stairs to check anyway.

 

* * *

 

Bucky officially did not like brushing his teeth. Tony gave him a toothbrush and funny-tasting tooth-soap, but that didn't improve the experience. When the adult wasn't looking, he washed all the tooth-soap off the brush and mimed spitting into the sink before declaring himself done with the activity.

The clothes that were provided for sleeping substantially improved Bucky's mood. His had pictures of a man dressed in red, white, and blue and holding a shield, on them. He thought Steve would like them, and eagerly showed the younger boy, but the blonde threw a fit, demanding that he be given the same ones. Bucky thought that Steve's “pj's” with little steam engines were very cute, but apparently that didn't matter.

Somehow Tony managed to make Steve calm down, and soon him and Steve were sitting on a bed with the adult, listening to him tell a story. “Once upon a time,” Tony began, “there was a little boy.”

“What was his name?” Steve interrupted.

Bucky sighed a little, the blonde could never sit still and be quiet during a story, even the most interesting one, which this one wasn't. The older boy was actually curious as to Tony's idea of bedtime stories, so he wished the Steve would just be quiet. It seemed like the adult felt the same way, but he had more patience, even stopping to allow Steve to name the main character Clark.

“Okay, so Clark and his best friend Hank, were very close, and they played together all the time. They went to school together, and their parents were friends, they even had Thanksgiving dinner together.”

“Why is his name Hank?” Steve asked.

“Shh,” Bucky tried to elbow his friend, falling silent when he realized his arm wasn't there.

“One day, Hank's parents decided to move all the way across the country,” Tony continued, “that made Clark very sad because he would really miss his best friend. They promised to write letters, and never stop being friends.”

Bucky tried to imagine what it would be like if Steve moved away. Sure, the sickly blonde could be bothersome at times, but the nine-year-old imagined that he would be quite sad and lonely if the younger boy wasn't around anymore. That brought him to thoughts of Steve's many illnesses and how it was a real possibility that he wouldn't make it through childhood. Before Bucky could start crying, he turned his attention back to the adult telling the story.

“Over the years, Hank and Clark stopped writing so many letters, until they had no contact with each other anymore. Clark was sad for a while, and he didn't have many friends, but after a while, he found a group to be part of. There were a bunch of kids in the group, by his favorites were the girl, Diana, and her friend Oliver, a boy named Wally, and another 2, called Billy and Edward.”

Steve made to open his mouth, but Bucky poked him before the younger could say anything and Tony was able to continue telling the story. “There was always tension between Edward and Clark, but they got close after a while, every Thursday night, they would get together at Edward's house.”

Bucky decided that it was good Clark made new friends, but it was sad that he forgot about Hank. He hoped that wherever he'd moved Hank was having a good life and making new friends. It had been really lonely for Bucky before meeting Steve and while he'd had friends, none of the friendships had been anything like the one he had with the young blonde.

“After many years, Hank's family moved back to town. It was different than before, Hank was like an entirely different person. Still, Clark wanted to rekindle their friendship. He started going over to Hank's house on Thursday's.”

Frowning, Bucky wondered what happened to Edward. He was happy that Clark and Hank were friends again, but he couldn't help feeling like Edward was being abandoned. Additionally, Bucky wanted to ask how and why Hank was so different, but he didn't want to interrupt the story so he kept quiet. Tony sighed heavily and the nine-year-old decided that the story would be ending soon; the adult was tired and hadn't wanted to tell a story in the first place.

Readjusting his position, the man continued. “Edward was sad because Clark wasn't coming over anymore; he liked Hank better. Diana and Oliver got in a fight, and so did Edward and Clark. It all got very messy. In the end, Clark moved on with Hank, taking some of the old friend group with him. After all, Hank and Clark would always be best friends.”

At that point, Bucky couldn't help speaking up. “What about the others?” he asked quietly, “they were Edward's friends too, right? What about Wally and Billy?”

“Diana and Oliver made up,” Tony replied, “Wally found new friends, and Billy moved away. They all lived somewhat happily ever after.”

Bucky didn't think that Edward's 'ever after' seemed all that happy, but he was getting tired and was ready for the story to be over. Steve apparently had the same question. “What about Edward?” the six-year-old asked.

“That's a story for another time,” Tony said, getting up to leave.

At the last moment, Bucky asked for a hug, and Tony obliged. He wrapped his one arm around the inventor, and told the man exact what he was thinking, “I want my arm back.”

"I know, kiddo," Tony replied, “we will talk about it in the morning.”

The response was less than satisfactory, but it wasn't like Bucky expected the adult to wave a magic wand and make it all better. That would be nice though.

 

* * *

 

Steve decided that Tony was no good at telling bedtime stories; they weren't supposed to be so sad. “Bucky?” he whispered into the dark.

“Go to sleep, Stevie,” the older replied.

“That story was really sad,” the blonde continued, “what do you think happened to Edward?”

“I don't know. Tony said he would tell us another time.”

“Isn't that what grown-ups say when they mean no but don't want to say no?”

“Sometimes,” Bucky yawned, “not always.”

“Do you think Tony will really tell us?”

“Maybe. It's just a story... go to sleep.”

“It's still really sad,” Steve argued, “even if it isn't real.”

When his older friend didn't reply, the six-year-old spoke up again. “where do you think Billy moved?”

Silence.

“I think he went to California. Or maybe Timbuktu. That's far away, right?”

Silence.

“Bucky, are you asleep?”

As he lay in bed listening to Bucky's even breathing, Steve wondered what it would be like to be Edward. He wondered if having no friends at all ever would be less lonely than having friends and then losing them. He also pondered what life was like in Timbuktu.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. Questions, Comments, Concerns, Seasons Greetings, I'm not picky.
> 
> (The next chapter will definitely have Natasha's perspective and I will try to include Sam's as well)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha, Bucky, and Clint's POV's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been way too long but here is an update (albeit a short one)

Natasha waited patiently for Tony to show up. She had watched through a slightly cracked door as he left Steve and Bucky's room and went downstairs. Waiting for a while, she wondered if the adult was going to come back. She knew she wasn't allowed to sleep yet, but the whole situation was very confusing. _Может быть, это тест_ , she mused, _возможно, я должен не спать всю ночь._

( _Maybe this is a test,_ she mused, _maybe I'm supposed to stay up all night_.)

At some point she heard Tony's footsteps make their way back up the stairs and then Wanda began to cry from down the hall. The crying stopped fairly quickly and Natasha idly wondered if perhaps Tony had just snapped the toddler's neck. It didn't seem like something he would do, but anything was possible. A short while later, there was a knock on the bedroom door and the adult entered.

“Sweetheart,” he came towards her, “why aren't you asleep?”

 _Это тест, я знал это_ , she thought to herself. “You don't have any.”

( _This is a test, I knew it_ , she thought to herself.)

Tony moved to sit down next to her, "I don't have any what?"

"Handcuffs," she replied evenly, "I looked everywhere."

Tony chuckled, "for future reference, darling, it's not nice to go through other people's things without their permission."

Natasha nodded, she'd messed up, but it didn't seem like the adult would punish her.

“Why do you need handcuffs?"

"So I can sleep," she replied, wondering why he was asking such simple questions.

"Why is that?" he asked her, seeming to be genuinely curious.

"So I don't accidentally run away when I'm asleep.”

"How about you sleep in my room, kiddo,” Tony offered, “that way I can make sure you don't run away in the night."

Natasha was too tired to argue and she knew that the older girls had to do this, but she'd thought that she still had a few more years. Deciding to see what would happen, she held her arms up indicating that she wanted to be carried. Much to her surprise, the man picked her up and carried her to his bedroom, tucking her in before climbing in himself.

Staying as still as she possibly could, Natasha watched Tony sleep. It puzzled her greatly that he wasn't doing anything to her, the older girls had always cried a lot after this sort of thing, but it really didn't seem so bad. _Плохая вещь случится утром_ , she decided, _Я мог бы спать, пока я могу_.

( _The bad thing will happen in the morning_ , she decided, _I might as well sleep while I can._ )

* * *

 

Sam decided that he liked this foster home. It was a little crazy with so many different kids, but it was kind of nice that none of them were Tony's 'real' children. Steve seemed like quite the handful, so Sam did his best to compromise in all situations and help out with Wanda. Though he was a little sad that he wouldn't be getting very much attention, he knew better than to complain. _The ones who cause problems get the most attention, but they also get sent back to the State first,_ he reminded himself, _Steve is probably going to be the first to go._

Natasha's behavior was far from ideal, but foster parents always like girls better and it seemed like the redhead was already bonding with Tony, if her sleeping in his bed was any indication. It was possible that Bucky could be sent back for getting involved in Steve's fights, but Sam doubted that the younger boy would be, once they found a foster parent willing to take on a 'special needs' case, the State fought tooth and nail to keep the kid off their hands. With only one arm and what seemed like a lack of understanding of modern appliances, Bucky definitely qualified as 'special needs.'

The was next to no chance that Wanda would be sent back, Sam concluded, the younger a kid was, the more likely they were to be adopted. The toddler's understanding of English was next to non-existent, but she was learning very quickly.

To Sam, Clint seemed like the ideal child that any foster parent would want. He was obedient, gave in easily when Steve started a fight, and somehow, even at his young age, knew how to fold laundry. At the same time, it was obvious that Clint had been through at least a few different foster homes, so Sam imagined that some sort of misbehavior would show up eventually. When it was revealed that Clint was deaf, or at least hard-of-hearing, the whole situation made more sense.

With a second pair of hearing aids for Clint and a prosthetic arm for Bucky, not to mention the large amounts of groceries and clothing and the frankly mindbogglingly high-tech TV, it became clear to Sam that Tony was very wealthy. The house where they were staying didn't appear particularly fancy, but it was definitely one of the nicer places the twelve year old had lived. He was excited and quite surprised to find out that Tony was a scientist, because Sam was under the impression that scientists were very busy and never spent time at home.

Though the adult wasn't able to provide the eldest child with much attention, Sam could see he was doing his best. He provided more age-appropriate books than the kid had ever seen in a single household. Comic books had always been Sam's escape and Tony offered quite the variety for him to read, so the twelve year old couldn't not like the man. He remained cautious, getting attached too easily was a recipe for disaster, but he really hoped that he would stay in this particular foster home for a long time.

 

* * *

 

Clint didn't trust Tony, but the adult was growing on him very quickly. New clothing, a second pair of hearing aids, and not a single threat of violence greatly helped the man in making a good impression. So far, he'd been allowed to play freely, and the chores he was assigned were limited to helping with clearing the table and folding some laundry. For that reason, he stayed with Tony when another man called Dr. Fitz showed up to babysit or help out or something.

Clint was very tentative about asking Tony to read to him, and was pleasantly surprised when the man easily agreed. That said, he noticed the adult's disappointment when it became evident that the seven year old was almost entirely illiterate, the only big words he knew were the ones written over and over again in the files labeled 'Barton, Clint,' that every social worker seemed to have.

When Tony had to take a call that was somehow also a video, Clint watched and listened very carefully, hoping to find out more about the man and maybe understand this new situation. Instead, the kid was left with more questions than he'd had before. When the call ended and the video disappeared, Tony caught Clint staring at him. “What's up, kid?” he asked.

“You're not a real foster dad, are you?” the seven year old decided impulsively that if he was already in trouble for eavesdropping, it didn't really matter if he was rude too.

“Not exactly, but for right now, I'm functioning as one. Sort of,” Tony didn't seem to be angry at all.

Clint didn't entirely understand what he'd heard from the man in the video, but it seemed like he'd either been brought to the future while his adult self was sent to the past, or somehow his adult self had ben de-aged. Both ideas were kind of scary and incredibly cool, and it was entirely possible that Tony was a kidnapper, but the seven year old was surprisingly okay with that possibility. If the adult was a kidnapper, he was the nicest one ever. One thing he'd heard did concern Clint greatly. "Did adult me do something bad?" he asked.

"It's a long story kiddo, the short version is that adult you did some really illegal things and got caught and was sent to jail, and when I visited you there, you said some mean things and blamed me for you being in jail."

"That guy in the video said that we hurt you. Why did I do that?" Clint knew he should probably stop asking questions, but curiosity got the best of him.

"You thought it was right. You didn't have all the information, but you didn't care to find out the facts before acting," it was painfully obvious to the seven year old that Tony was trying to suppress his anger.

"I'm sorry," Clint said, knowing that it was always best to apologize, even if he didn't understand what he'd done wrong or remember doing it.

"Don't be sorry," Tony ruffled the his hair, "it wasn't you, it was the adult version of you."

The little boy shrugged, trying not to think about how nice the affectionate gesture had felt and how much he hoped it would happen again. "I'm still sorry that adult me was stupid and mean. What about the others? What did they do?"

Tony sighed, "I thought one thing, and Steve and Bucky thought different. They broke a lot of laws and hurt a lot of people."

"I was on their side?"

"Yes, you, Wanda and Sam sided with Steve and Bucky."

Clint frowned, partly due to disappointment in his adult self and partly due to confusion, "why did I do that? Are you going to punish me?"

"You did what you thought was right, kiddo. Don't think about it too much, okay? And no, I'm not going to punish you. I don't want to do that ever."

"Is that why you like Natasha best?" Clint asked, thankful that Tony wasn't planning to punish him, but not entirely trusting the adult's word, "because she was on your side."

"What made you think that I like her best?"

Clint didn't really know how to reply, but he decided he'd taken enough risk for the time being and he should probably keep his mouth shut. He didn't dare to look at Tony's face and try to gauge the adult's reaction.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think.
> 
> (I'll try to update soon, but we both know it's gonna be a while)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha has a heart-to-heart with Tony, Clint adopts a puppy, Steve get's a lullaby instead of a story, and Wanda hits her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only been like a month and a half. I think this is improvement. It's also longer than my usual chapters I think.
> 
> This lines up approximately with chapters 8-11 and the first half of chapter 12 in One Month of Fatherhood. I'm not really sure.

Natasha lay in the dark, waiting for Tony to return. She could hear soft singing from down the hall, but it wasn't loud enough for her to distinguish the song and she didn't care enough to get up and find out. When the inventor came back, he climbed into bed silently and lay down, closing his eyes. As she knew he wasn't yet asleep, Natasha lay a hand on Tony's chest, patting lightly. "I think I understand now," she told him when he turned to look at her.

"Understand what?"

"You aren't Red Room and so, until you send me back, I'm allowed to be like a regular kid," she explained, watching his face and hoping for confirmation.

"That sounds about right," Tony mumbled, yawning, "I wouldn't send you back there if I had another choice. I hope you know that, sweetheart."

Natasha held in her surprised gasp when she was pulled into a warm hug. "If it were up to me, I'd keep you and raise you myself and spoil you rotten while I was at it," she could tell that he was distracted, but the young spy appreciated what attention she was given.

"That sounds nice," Natasha sighed, imagining the possibilities, "would you let me keep taking ballet classes?"

"I would make sure you had the very best teachers," he replied, "and I would come to as many performances and recitals as I could."

The redhead spent another minute imagining what it would be like before asking another question. She knew that she should probably stop bothering the man, but she also wanted to take advantage of his open, half-awake state. "Clint told me about the de-aging thing and how we were all fighting before it happened. He said I was on your side."

Suddenly Tony was wide awake and Natasha regretted asking. "You were on my side at the beginning, but then you joined them."

Deciding that she was probably going to be punished regardless, the little spy figured she might as well keep pushing. "I asked the machine in your office. It said that the adult versions of us were superheroes. If that's true, shouldn't we have been fighting bad guys not each other?"

Tony paused before answering and Natasha braced herself for a blow that never came. "Sometimes when you fight bad guys, innocent people get hurt and buildings get destroyed. I thought that we should accept limitations and not help people who didn't want our help."

"And everybody disagreed?" Natasha asked, noticing Clint slipping through the slightly open door but choosing to ignore the older child.

"Steve didn't agree,” Tony replied, “but we ended up fighting because of something else."

Clint spoke up then, climbing onto the inventor's other side. “What was the something else?" he asked.

Natasha wanted to snap at the boy, but she was also curious so she stayed quiet. "When did you get here?" Tony asked, clearly avoiding the question.

"I've been here since Natasha said that adult us were superheroes," the boy replied, "Can I stay?"

Much to the redhead's annoyance, Tony agreed. After several minutes of silence, she settled down and pretended to fall asleep, hoping to catch some information that she wasn't supposed to know. "I think you're the best parent I've had yet," Clint said.

Natasha couldn't voice her agreement because she was supposed to be asleep, but Tony was definitely the best adult she knew, at least that she could remember. "What do you mean?" the inventor asked.

"My first dad yelled a lot," Clint replied, "and my foster parents took away food and locked me in the cabinet and stuff."

Natasha was surprised to say the least. The older child had good aim but otherwise seemed fairly normal. She hadn't considered that he'd also been in an environment like hers. While lost in her thoughts, Natasha missed some of the conversation, so the next thing she heard was "I won't send you back if I don't have to. I'll be here to take care of you as long as I can."

Hoping that the sentiment also applied to her, the young spy fell asleep with a small smile on her face.

 

* * *

 

For some reason, he wasn't quite sure, Clint had slept extremely well and woken up in a good mood. Breakfast was cereal and milk, not his favorite, he far preferred pancakes, but definitely edible. Afterwards, they were all sent into the living room so that Tony could do something by himself in the kitchen. Clint figured it probably had something to do with coffee, the adult seemed to drink quite a lot of it.

Eventually, Tony came in and Bucky asked the question they were all wondering. "What are we doing today?"

The adult seemed lost in thought for a minute before he spoke. "What do you want to do?"

Everyone started talking at once. “We could go to the park,” Clint suggested, clapping a hand over his own mouth when he realized that he'd said something.

There was no retribution, and the other kids continued clamoring for Tony's attention. Natasha wanted to do something related to dancing and Steve brought up museums. Clint didn't really like either of their ideas, but he did find Bucky's suggestion of a trip to the zoo quite appealing. Sam thought that going to a bookstore would be best, which was obviously a bad idea, _never ask a foster parent for something that costs money_ , but Clint didn't speak up and Tony didn't reject the idea.

In fact, the inventor smiled at all of them, and agreed to the park and bookstore ideas, adding on a stop at an ice cream store. Clint was practically ecstatic, not only had his idea been excepted, but he was going to get ice cream. Of course, nothing was a guarantee, but the odds seemed favorable.

“We can go to the ballet and a museum and the zoo another day,” Tony placated the other kids, and the seven year old decided that maybe the adult wasn't as smart as he'd originally thought; not every kid took 'no' in the way Clint did.

Somehow it all worked out anyway, and within an hour, they were at a playground that was cleaner than any playground Clint had ever seen. They'd all separated to play, but Natasha getting into a fight with another kid was enough of an event to gather them all together. Sam ran off to get Tony and Clint couldn't help feeling nervous. _She's gonna be in big trouble_ , he thought to himself, fighting the urge to bite his nails and moving to stand between Natasha and the mother of the child she'd been fighting with. He didn't like the redhead very much, but she was still a little kid and definitely younger than the kid who she pushed off the ladder.

By the time Sam returned with Tony, the boy who'd pulled down Natasha's pants and subsequently gotten pushed off the ladder, was crying and his mother was yelling at the little redhead. Clint had given up on trying to stand in front of Natasha, and had succumbed to the urge to bite his nails. Unlike everyone else, Natasha was entirely calm and Clint was just a little bit impressed if also slightly intimidated.

"What happened?" Tony asked immediately, turning to Natasha, "are you hurt, honey?"

Natasha shook her head, but when she turned her head, Clint could see that she was biting her lip nervously. The mother turned to Tony, "Is she yours?"

Not waiting for a response, she continued, "she pushed my son off the ladder," the woman said, indication a nearby structure.

"Why did you push him?" Tony asked.

"I was at the top," Natasha answered, "he pulled my pants down."

Surprisingly, instead of yelling at the redhead and pulling her away, Tony turned to the other kid's mother. "Teach your kid some manners," he said angrily.

When the woman tried to respond, he immediately cut her off, "No. He is at least three years older than her. She had a right to defend herself."

The mother sensed that she had lost, so she huffed in annoyance, but steered her son away. Clint was glad that Tony had taken Natasha's side, but the man's anger scared him. He'd experienced angry foster parents before, and it never ended well for anyone, no matter which kid was at fault. Looking around, the seven year old saw that Steve was drawing in the dirt, entirely oblivious to the situation and Bucky had taken Wanda to the sand pit which was close enough to be seen but far away enough to not be within immediate striking zone. Clint continued biting his nails, now aware that he, Natasha, and Sam were gonna be the ones facing Tony's anger.

Much to his surprise, Tony took a deep breath, all anger disappearing from his expression."Is everyone okay to be here for a while longer?" he asked.

Clint nodded and ran off, thankful that he'd avoided a potentially disastrous situation. They stayed at the playground for quite a while, but when Sam decided he was hungry, and Bucky agreed, Tony gathered them all for lunch. Excited by the prospect of a restaurant, Clint eagerly made his way down from the top of the climbing structure and over to the adult.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the excursion went quite well by Clint's standards. Not only did Tony take them to a restaurant and bookstore, but the adult also took them out for ice cream and brought them back to the playground. At the playground, Clint found a puppy behind a bush he was exploring. He petted the dog a little, but all too soon, Tony was calling for him, saying that it was time to leave.

Much to Clint's delight, the little puppy followed them as they walked back to Tony's house. It didn't occur to him that perhaps the adult didn't like animals, so when the puppy began lagging behind, the seven year old simply picked the dog up and carried it the rest of the way. When they arrived back at the house, the realization hit him.

 _I'll hide him,_ Clint decided, thankful that Tony was distracted by the other kids, _he can live in the shed in the backyard and no one has to know except for me._

All hopes were abandoned when he saw the adult sniffing the air and before Clint could sneak out of the room, Tony raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat. Staring at the floor, the boy shuffled his way towards the adult, holding the source of the smell tightly in his arms. "Can I keep him?" Clint asked, "please?"

Tony sighed, "don't go anywhere," he instructed.

Clint stood excruciatingly still for the next ten minutes, holding the wriggling puppy and waiting for Tony to return. He was terrified that the adult was going to be angry and punish him, but the idea of Tony hurting the puppy was even more scary. Much to Clint's surprise, Tony returned with soap and a few towels. "Hand him over," he told the little boy, setting the supplies on a table.

"Please don't hurt him," Clint begged, holding his arms more tightly around the creature.

"I'm not gonna hurt him," Tony assured the boy, taking the dirty puppy in his hands and looking him over. "Where did you find him?"

"He followed me home," Clint replied, hoping the adult would accept the answer.

Tony chuckled, "you mean you carried him home."

"He followed me from the park but he was getting tired so I helped him," the boy justified, scared, but trying not to bite his nails.

Tony led Clint towards one of the bathrooms, "we have to find out if he already has a family before we take him in permanently," the inventor cautioned.

"But he doesn't have a collar," Clint protested, "and he was really dirty. They don't care about him."

Tony sighed, tabling the topic temporarily. "Let's get him cleaned up," the inventor suggested.

It didn't occur to Clint until that night when he and the puppy were both on the verge of sleep, that he'd behaved very poorly and been incredibly rude and still managed to avoid punishment. No foster parent that the seven year old had ever met would have tolerated such behavior, and Clint decided that what he'd told Tony about the puppy's name, “Lucky,” wasn't completely untrue. He was really lucky to have a foster parent like the eccentric inventor.

He tried not to think to much about what Tony had said in response. “And I'm lucky to have you.”

 

* * *

 

Steve was disappointed that Tony refused to continue the bedtime story from before, but he wasn't opposed to being sung a lullaby. As it turned out, the adult had a beautiful voice and though Steve didn't recognize the songs he sang, they had pleasant melodies.

_Did you lose what won't return?_  
_Did you love but never learn?_  
_The fire's out but still it burns,_  
_And no one cares, there's no one there..._

“Is this another sad song?” Steve asked with a frown.

“Be quiet Stevie, I'm listening,” Bucky complained.  
  
_Did you find it hard to breathe?_  
_Did you cry so much that you could barely see?_  
_In the darkness all alone,_  
_And no one cares, there's no one there..._

Steve decided that this was definitely a sad song, but didn't comment because though melancholy, it was beautiful. He wondered if Tony was sad like the songwriter or if he just liked the song. He decided on the latter because the adult seemed perfectly happy, he didn't cry when he thought no one was looking like Steve's mother did when there wasn't enough money for food, and he didn't get upset like Bucky's father sometimes did.

  
_Well did you see the flares in the sky?_  
_Were you blinded by the light?_  
_Did you feel the smoke in your eyes?_  
_Did you? Did you?_  
_Did you see the sparks feel the hope? You are not alone..._  
_Cause someone's out there, sending out flares..._

“That's happier, right?” Steve smiled, glad that the song was finally taking a turn for the better.

“Steeevie, shhhhh,” Bucky frowned at him in the dark.  
  
_Did you break but never mend?_  
_Did it hurt so much you thought it was the end?_  
_Lose your heart but don't know when,_  
_And no one cares, there's no one there..._

Steve looked over at Natasha, tucked herself tightly into Tony's arms as the adult sang, and couldn't help but feel jealous. Sometimes it seemed like Tony didn't like him, touching, hugging, and praising him far less than he would have liked. Steve figured that it was probably because Natasha was younger and a girl, but he still didn't like it.  
  
_Well did you see the flares in the sky?_  
_Were you blinded by the light?_  
_Did you feel the smoke in your eyes?_  
_Did you? Did you?_  
_Did you see the sparks feel the hope? You are not alone,_  
_Cause someone's out there, sending out flares..._  
_Someone's out there, sending out flares..._

“Sweet dreams, kiddos,” Tony said when he finished the song, standing up with Natasha in one arm.

“Goodnight, Tony,” Bucky and Steve replied in unison.

Steve fell asleep thinking about fireworks.

 

* * *

 

When she woke up in the morning, Wanda needed to pee really badly, but she was afraid to get out of bed. It was pretty high up, and she didn't like falling. After several minutes of deliberation and furtive peaking over the edge, she decided to jump. Unfortunately, the toddler miscalculated the space she needed and hit her head on the nightstand on the way down.

Pain flared up on her head, and Wanda began to wail. She called for her parents, for Pietro, and even for Tony. Though none of them came, Lucky did. The pup climbed on top of the toddler, licking away her tears. It didn't fix everything, but it helped.

Tony arrived soon after the dog and Wanda called out to him, wanting the pain to go away. He wasn't able to make that happen, but he dropped a gentle kiss on her head where she'd hurt it and announced that it was "all better."

The man seemed pretty sure of himself, so Wanda accepted the judgement, and all was well in toddler world once again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Natasha squabble, Thor shows up, and Lucky goes to the vet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware that it took me way too long to update
> 
> This lines up approximately with One Month of Fatherhood Chapters [12-13]. Also I apologize if my writing style has changed over the course of this story, but at the same time, I'm not going to do anything about it.

Natasha woke up with Clint's arm draped over her shoulders. On the boy's other side, she saw someone else who was distinctly smaller than Tony-sized, tangled in the sheets. In her attempts to extract herself from the bed, the young spy accidentally woke Clint, but Steve remained fast asleep.

The young redhead moved into the kitchen and climbed onto a stool by the island, ignoring Clint's verbal worrying about where Lucky might be. “He's probably with Tony,” she said when it became evident that the boy wasn't going to be shutting up, “go look for him if you're that worried.”

“But I don't know where to look,” Clint complained, “you have to come with me.”

“I don't have to do anything,” Natasha sneered at him, “maybe the dog ran away because you're so annoying.”

“That's mean,” the boy pouted, “and Lucky is a puppy, not a dog.”

“Whatever,” the girl shrugged, hoping that Clint didn't pick up on her confusion over the different words; she had no idea what a 'puppy' was.

They were saved from any further argument by the sound of footsteps and yipping coming down the hallway. Soon, Tony entered the kitchen carrying Wanda, Lucky following close behind. The sounds of Steve trying to wake up Bucky could be heard drifting down the stairs.

"You left," Natasha accused the adult.

"I'm sorry, honey, Lucky needed to go outside," Tony apologized, "I got caught up in work."

Natasha nodded, satisfied with the explanation, and spun around on her stool, "does that mean Clint will make sure I don't run away when you aren't there?"

Tony looked at Clint when his name was mentioned. "Yeah," he replied after a moment.

Just then, Sam trudged into the room, rubbing his eyes. "What's for breakfast?" he asked.

"That depends," Tony smiled and began looking through the available ingredients, "what do you guys want?"

Natasha just shrugged, not particularly caring, and Sam asked for bacon and eggs. Steve entered the room, surprisingly without Bucky, and seconded the eldest's opinion. Tony informed them that bacon wasn't an option, but he did make toast and eggs with juice and strawberries, so the young spy was satisfied.

It was pouring outside, thunder and lightning scaring Lucky, Wanda, and Steve, so Tony decided that they had to stay inside. Natasha wasn't particularly happy about the decision, but since it also meant she didn't have to change into normal clothes, she didn't complain.

After breakfast, Tony set up Wanda in the living room with the wordless picture book he'd bought for her the day before and gave the drawing supplies to drawing again. Clint and Bucky seemed to be having a darts competition and Natasha considered joining in but decided to look at the Russian books Tony had given her. Though most of her attention was given to said books, the young spy made sure to keep an eye on the adult who had settled on the couch between her and Wanda and was working with some sort of electronic device.

Both Natasha and Tony looked up when they heard a thud outside, and the storm abruptly ended. "I think a friend is here," the adult informed the room's other occupants, extracting himself from between Wanda and Natasha.

Displeased at being disturbed, Wanda made a fuss and got Tony to pick her up. Curious and a little jealous, Natasha abandoned her books and got off the couch as well. A moment later there was a heavy knock on the front door. Tony smiled and went to answer it, Natasha, the rest of the children, and Lucky accompanying him.

The door swung open to reveal a heavily muscled blonde man holding a large hammer. "Man of Iron!" the stranger greeted loudly.

Though Tony cringed at the volume of the greeting, Wanda to covered her ears and Clint started crying, Natasha remained un-phased. _Он вероятно учитель,_ she frowned to herself, _мне это не нравится._

( _He's probably a teacher,_ she frowned to herself, _I don't like it._ )

 

* * *

 

Steve couldn't help but feel scared as he looked up at the hulking blonde that Tony introduced as “Thor.” Clint dove behind the couch and while the younger blonde honestly wanted to do the same, he refrained, knowing it would be poor manners to do so. For lack of a better option, he tucked himself securely under Bucky's flesh arm. Sam's defiant stance reminded Steve of when Bucky stood up to the six year old's bullies, but he didn't say anything on the subject.

"I was told of your civil war, I had no idea of these consequences," Thor turned to Tony, "I have spent this past week with my Lady Jane, and we were not informed of this."

The only part of what Thor had said that made sense to Steve was the “Civil War” part. He came out from beneath Bucky's arm, to proudly share his knowledge. "The Civil War began in 1861 when-”

"Steve, this is a conversation, not a history report," Tony interrupted.

The little boy stopped speaking, trying not cry. Steve didn't hear whatever it was that happened next, but eventually he felt hands on his shoulders and opened his eyes to find Tony kneeling in front of him. "I'm sorry," the inventor explained, "I only stopped you because Thor isn't from around here, and I didn't want to confuse him."

It was decided that Thor would watch the kids while Tony took Clint and Lucky shopping for additional groceries and to get the dog vaccinated. Steve listened to the adults' conversation from the kitchen doorway, still a little butt-hurt about being interrupted when he was doing something that should have been applauded. The huge blonde man seemed to be concerned that Clint didn't like him very much which confused the six year old greatly. He was rather used to people not liking him, specifically the boys his own age, so it seemed unreasonable that Thor was upset about such a small incident.

"He's been treated pretty badly by adult males,” Tony explained, “he doesn't even trust me yet, and I'm smaller than you."

Steve frowned to himself. _Clint doesn't trust Tony,_ he mused, _I wonder why not... and what does it mean that he's been treated badly?_

Thor, it seemed, completely understood the situation. "Such cruelty towards children is not confined to Midgard," he said in a voice that Steve associated with adults announcing the moral of a story.

 _What's Midgard,_ he wondered to himself, _maybe I can get Tony to show it to me on a map._

The adults didn't continue to discuss the topic and Steve had to hurry back to the living room to avoid being caught. Though he wasn't happy about being left with another stranger, but Steve trusted that Tony wouldn't put them in the care of someone dangerous.

 

* * *

 

Once Tony finished providing the huge muscly blonde with guidelines for babysitting, the inventor took Clint by one hand and led him out to the car, Lucky following close behind. “Where are we going?” the child asked quietly once they were both buckled in.

“First the vet, then a pet store, then the grocery store,” Tony replied, backing out of the driveway.

“The vet?” Clint fidgeted with his seatbelt.

“Veterinarian. Like a doctor for animals.”

“Are you gonna have him put down?”

“What? No, of course not,” Tony turned to glance at the boy behind him, “Lucky just needs a health check up.”

“Okay,” the seven year old nodded, not really believing the adult.

Though Tony continued attempting to convince Clint otherwise, the child spent the rest of the car ride trying not to cry over Lucky's potential fate. He knew that crying wouldn't do anything other than annoy the adult and that if Tony had made a decision, there wasn't much Clint could actually do about it. _I shouldn't have gotten so attached,_ he frowned to himself.

At the appointment itself, Clint stayed quiet, doing his best not to flinch every time the vet reached for a needle. When a sedative was administered for the purposes of calming the energetic puppy so shots could be given, the boy barely kept himself from jumping between the dog and the needle. When the vet asked about neutering, Clint almost panicked even though he didn't know what the word meant. Thankfully Tony declined the procedure and allowed the seven year old to carry the puppy, wrapped in a blanket, to the car.

Their next stop was a nearby store that sold various supplies for pets. Much to the child's delight, Clint was allowed to pick out a collar for Lucky and several chew toys. Tony also grabbed a book of some sort off the shelf. They stopped in front of the dog-bed section, but the adult just shrugged and led the child towards the register. “He's got the box, right?” Tony mused aloud, “and he'll probably end up sleeping in one of the human beds anyway.”

Clint didn't bother suppressing his smile at the inadvertent permission to let Lucky sleep in his bed. He followed Tony to the register and then out the door and into the car, occupied by the thought of falling asleep while cuddling a puppy. He'd never had a pet of his own before; there had been a stray cat that lurked near one of his foster homes, but it was mean and he hadn't been allowed to pet it anyway.

When they arrived at the grocery store, Clint realized that while no one was announcing it in the parking lot, Lucky was probably not allowed in the store. He didn't want to leave the puppy in the car, but he hoped that if Tony made him, they could at least crack a window. Fortunately, the adult decided to ignore the likely rules, and bring the dog with them anyway. With a conspiratorial smile, Tony settled a sleeping Lucky on a blanket in the baby seat of the shopping cart and led Clint into the store.

 

* * *

 

Despite having been in the same grocery store several days earlier, Clint was amazed by the quantity and quality of the food. That aside, the floors were clean, the shelves organized, and the employees helpful. Deciding to test the waters a bit, the seven year old tugged on Tony's arm and asked if they could get muffins.

To his surprise, the adult agreed immediately and sent Clint off to pick out whatever muffins he wanted. It took him a fair amount of time to pick out a 4-pack of chocolate chip muffins and even longer to find his way back to Tony. When he managed to find the inventor, their cart was nearly full. That's when everything went wrong.

“Kiddo,” Tony crouched so he was eye level with the boy, “I'm sorry, but we're not gonna buy those.”

Clint stood silently, sad and more than a bit confused. _It was too good to be true anyway,_ he told himself, _you're being fed full meals regularly so be grateful for that._

“We can still get muffins,” the adult insisted, “but I'd prefer the fresh ones.”

“Okay,” the child nodded, happy that he was still going to get his muffins, but worried that he'd disappointed Tony.

“Let's go exchange these, alright?”

“Okay.”

They went together to exchange what Clint had found for fresh baked chocolate chip muffins and then proceeded to the register. The boy helped Tony unload the cart, genuinely shocked by the amount of food that the adult was going to buy. There was a large bag of dog food, but the rest of it was for the humans. The cold goods were followed by plethora of snack foods, then peanut butter, pasta, and fresh vegetables and lastly, several loaves of fresh bread. Just looking at all of it made Clint a little hungry.

Though they were at a grocery store, Tony had somehow also found soaps, kids shampoo, and a few umbrellas, all of which were kept separate from the food. The cashier smiled down at Clint as he was scanning the items, having already exchanged pleasantries with the adult. "How many siblings do you have?" he asked the kid.

Clint looked up at the man suspiciously, "how do you know I have any?"

The cashier frowned for a moment but then smiled again. "No one buys this much peanut butter without having at least 2 kids," he replied.

Clint nodded, grudgingly accepting the response. "Five" he held up one hand with his fingers spread out to show the number.

The cashier started loading things into bags before going back to scanning the various food items. "Is your Dad married?" he asked Clint.

The kid shrugged, but then shook his head slowly. The cashier nodded wisely, pausing for a moment, "go easy on him, okay? Being a single parent is hard."

Clint thought about what the cashier had said during the drive back to the house. When they were entering the neighborhood, he finally worked up the courage to ask Tony. "Why did you foster all of us?"

The adult stayed silent for a long time, and Clint was considering repeating the question when the man finally spoke. "Because I didn't trust anyone else to do it," he answered.

"You guys need a special kind of attention and care that normal foster parents can't provide. I'm not great at it, but I think I'm doing better than they would," Tony continued after a pause, "the adult versions of you guys did some questionable things and made a lot of people angry, so it would be dangerous to let just anyone foster you. Does that make sense?"

Clint hummed an agreement, not liking the sound of the explanation and turned his attention to Lucky who was on the seat beside him. He didn't want to think about his adult self because apparently he'd done bad things.

 

* * *

 

Tony had been very kind to all of them, but Sam really liked Thor. The man didn't seem particularly responsible, but he was a lot of fun and told the best stories. _Definitely not a potential foster parent,_ Sam decided, _and definitely not a social worker._

No matter how much he though about it, the twelve year old couldn't figure out who Thor was and how he was connected to Tony. Even so, Sam chose to put the questions aside in favor of listening to the stories and having his questions answered. The huge blonde man had a lap big enough to accommodate Steve and Wanda at the same time, or Steve and Natasha when Wanda came to sit in Sam's lap.

Another thing that the boy noticed was how Thor was able to divide his attention between the kids and maintain several conversations at once, applying the same enthusiasm to each. Tony could multitask and maintain multiple conversations, but something about the way Thor did it made Sam feel like he was more than a distraction; like his thoughts were genuinely valued.

It bothered the twelve year old that he was comparing the two adults, but he couldn't make himself stop. While Thor was more friendly and outgoing, it was easy to tell that he wasn't as smart or responsible as Tony. The blonde was far louder than the children were used to and he was enthusiastic about everything, reminding Sam of a little kid in some ways. While Tony would read books to Clint and Wanda, braid Natasha's hair in fancy ways, and teach the older kids how to play card games, Thor would crawl on the floor with Wanda, play make-believe along with Steve, allow Natasha to play with his hair, and sit in a circle telling fantastical stories to all the children.

What struck Sam as the most significant difference between the two adults was their eyes. Thor didn't carry the same kind of sadness that seemed to be constantly weighing Tony down. While the inventor rarely smiled, the muscled blonde rarely did anything but smile. Looking into each of their eyes, Sam could see that they had both faced loss in their lives, but there was something fundamentally different that the twelve year old couldn't quite name. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who wanted more from Bucky's POV's, I'll see what I can do in the next chapter, but no promises.


End file.
